Kill him, her mind chanted. End it. Do it now. Despair overcoming reason, she propped herself against the tree, cocked the pistol, and aimed for Nick’s head.
***
Damn it, where the hell was Tess? Standing by the Jeep, Nick took a long drag on his cigarette and stared out at the shimmering blue-green sea. She couldn’t have escaped again. Could she?
An elderly Mexican up the road had told Tony—after being given a hefty bribe—that a redheaded woman lived in this dump. It had to be Tess.
But except for a large orange cat, the cottage was deserted. Nick rubbed his thumb over the spot on his hand where the little fucker had scratched him. If he hadn’t been afraid of alerting Tess, he’d have taken out his gun and blown the bastard’s head off.
And what had he gotten for all his pain and trouble? Not a fucking thing. Other than a little food in the cupboards and an unmade bed, he hadn’t seen a single indication that anyone lived here.
Tony walked up and leaned against the car beside him. “No sign of her. Inside or out. If she was hiding out here, she’s gone now.”
“She can’t have lived here,” Nick insisted. He dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his shoe. “That old man had to be lying.”
Tony snorted. “Why, because she left the cat?”
“Exactly. Tess wouldn’t leave a cat locked in a house to starve to death. She hasn’t got the balls.”
“You’re right. She wouldn’t have left the cat. Not unless she planned on coming back.” Tony helped himself to one of Nick’s cigarettes. “I’d lay you three to one that bed was slept in last night. So whoever lived here not only cleared out without leaving a trace, they did it in a hurry.”
“It can’t have been Tess. She’s not smart enough to disappear without leaving some evidence.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Tony began. “I’d say she’s—”
Shouts from the men cut him off. Nick followed Tony at a run as Joe, his fist raised, shoved Bruce up against the house.
“What’s the deal?” Nick demanded.
Joe lowered his hand. “He screwed up. I told the guys to leave everything like it was so nobody’d know we’d been here. Just like you wanted.” He jerked a thumb at Bruce. “But this idiot let the cat out, and now it’s gone.”
“Even if he did,” Nick said. “So what? I don’t see what the fuss—”
Tony held up a hand, cutting him off. “Is that true?” he asked Bruce. “Did you let it out?”
“No, I swear I didn’t. All the windows are shut, and I was real careful about the doors.”
“And you’re sure it’s not in the house somewhere, hiding from you?”
“Yeah, I searched. Twice.”
“All right, never mind. Round everyone up and get them in the cars.” As Bruce hurried away, looking grateful to be off the hot seat, Tony turned to Joe. “He might be telling the truth.”
“Then, who let it out? The damn thing was there when we first searched the place. But when I checked just now to make sure the guys hadn’t disturbed nothing, it was gone. And Bruce’s the only one who went back in.”
“No,” Nick corrected, realizing what Tony was getting at. “He was just the only one we saw go back in.”
Joe frowned. “You mean somebody else went in? But Josh and Glen were with me. And we searched the house and yard real good. There’s nobody else here.”
Nick and Tony exchanged glances.
Tony stroked a hand along his jaw. “Unless that bitch came back and slipped in without us noticing. Just in case, leave Bruce here to watch the house. Give him one of the radios. If nobody turns up by sunset—or if somebody besides Tess shows up—he can call us, and we’ll come get him.”
“And if she shows up?” Joe asked.
Tony’s smile was pure malice. “Kill her.”
***
He might not remember his name, but he damn sure recognized the sound of a gun being cocked. The surge of adrenalin shot him to his feet. Hands raised, he whipped around to face the danger.
To his surprise and relief, the revolver wasn’t aimed at him, but at a man leaning against a Jeep near the cottage. The woman he thought he’d dreamed stood a few feet away, aiming a pee shooter at the guy’s head.
His own woes forgotten, he took three quick strides and grabbed her from behind, clamping one hand over her mouth.
“I don’t know what the problem is,” he hissed in her ear. “But that’s not the solution.”
The woman struggled.
He tightened his grip. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you. Promise you’ll keep quiet if I let you go?”
Her head nodded against his chest.
He released her and stepped back. “Do you mind telling me—”
She whirled, bringing the gun up to the level of his heart. Anger flared in her eyes—eyes that would’ve held him captive even without the revolver. He felt a punch of desire, like a blow to his chest, and struggled to think coherently. She’s got a gun, idiot. And it’s pointed at you.
Holding his hands in the air, he took another step back. She hesitated then lowered the weapon. Maybe she didn’t intend to shoot him, after all.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said. “But I didn’t have time to—”
The two vehicles near the cottage started up. Leaving behind one blond-haired monster—spewing curses and complaints—the rest of the thugs drove off.
As the cars pulled out, the woman glanced over her shoulder. Taking advantage of her distraction, he grabbed for her gun. Just in case she changed her mind about shooting him.
She jumped and dropped the pistol before he could get a firm hold on it. It hit a large rock at the base of the bougainvillea and discharged. The bullet whizzed past his head, slamming into the trunk of a palm tree some twenty feet away.
Although he felt like he’d walked into the middle of a movie and couldn’t grasp the plot, he had no trouble comprehending the extent of this new disaster. He snatched the gun off the ground and the woman by the arm then hightailed it down the beach to a large thicket of shrubs and cacti. The solid, chest-high cover should buy them at least a few minutes.
He released the woman, but she didn’t run. Instead, she rose up and peered over the top of a bush.
“Sorry I almost shot you,” she said, fiddling with the strap on her backpack and obviously avoiding his eyes. “But I didn’t know it was you.”
Surprised at the rage coursing through him, he opened his mouth to tell her off then thought better of it. Not a good idea to alienate her until he knew who she was and what those men wanted.
“Forget it,” he muttered. “Let’s just figure out what to do now.”
The distant crackle of a radio made them both jump.
“That guy they left behind will have heard that shot. So he’s going to come after us.” He glanced around, checking out the available cover. Not bad, but not as good as he’d like. “We can make a run for it, but I think we’ll have a better chance if we take Blondie out first.”
Brushing the sand off the revolver, he tried to cock it. “I’m afraid that rock did a number on this. The hammer’s bent, and the cylinder won’t turn.” He handed it to her. “We need some kind of weapon. Something to hit that monster with and knock him out.”
“What about the butt of the gun?”
“Won’t work. It’s too light. It’s made of aluminum. Pretty to look at, but the gun’s not real sturdy. At least with cheaper models like this one.” He picked up a rock and bounced it on his hand. “These rocks are all too small. I could probably find one that’d work, but not without breaking cover.” Sighing, he crouched down at the edge of the thicket. “Oh well, maybe, if I’m quick, I—”
She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Opening her backpack, she dropped in the gun, pulled out a sock half-filled with something he couldn’t identify, and handed it to him.
“Coins,” she explained. “I was taking them to the bank.”
He hefted the sock then tied a second knot to
compress the coins until they were brick solid. “This’ll do nicely.”
The radio crackled again, much closer now.
Peeking through the bushes, he whispered low, “Here he comes.”
Obviously following what was left of their footprints in the sand, Blondie inched forward. The brute was being too careful, easing in gradually and checking out each clump of shrubbery before moving on.
Motioning for the woman to hide, he pantomimed leading Blondie down the beach with her coming up and hitting him from behind. She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and used her hand to indicate firing a gun. Yeah, she was probably right—the man would just shoot him. Christ, you’re going to get both of you killed. Think!
But no plan presented itself. Maybe his brain was still befuddled from the effects of his injury. Or his current headache. Stymied, he raised his hands in a question.
She glanced around then motioned for him to squat down at the edge of the shrubbery, grab the man’s feet as he stepped by, and trip him so she could hit him on the head. Not a half-bad plan. And one he should have thought of himself. Why it insulted him that she’d come up with a better plan, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t afford the time to analyze it now. He handed her the coins and crouched down beside a huge cardón cactus, wondering who this woman was and how she’d come up with her plan so fast. Did killers creep up on her often?
She hunkered down behind him. When he saw the monster’s shoes appear at the base of the cactus, he grabbed hold of the guy’s ankles and jerked. Blondie belly-flopped on the sand. The woman brought the sock crashing down on the bastard’s head. He went limp.
“What do you know?” she said as she returned the sock to her backpack. “These damn things are good for something.”
“Well done.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’ll live,” he said, checking the monster’s pulse.
“Yo, Bruce,” the radio chirped. “Did you check out that noise? Was it gunfire?”
She grimaced. “So that’s Bruce.”
“You know him?”
She shook her head. “No. I was hiding from them and heard someone mention his name, but I didn’t hang around to get acquainted.”
“Understandable.” He shot Bruce a glance. “I doubt he’ll be out for long, so what do you say, we get out of here?”
“I thought you'd never ask.”
He gave her a wry smile and bent to retrieve Bruce’s gun. “Why don’t you head for that little road there? I’ll be right behind you.”
“No, Max, that leads to the main highway. This way’s better,” she said, pointing toward a hill in the distance. “It’s impassable by car, so if they follow us, they’ll have to do it on foot.”
He straightened up, the weapon forgotten. “What did you call me?”
She blinked. “I called you Max. Isn’t that your name? It’s tattooed on your arm.”
“It is?” Bewildered, he glanced down at his arms, wondering how on earth to explain. “So it is.” He saw the surprise on her face turn to suspicion. “Look, what’s your name?”
Expecting her to be upset that he didn’t remember her name, he braced himself. But she just hesitated and bit her lip.
“Jane.”
Well, that answered one question at least: she hadn’t expected him to know her name so they weren’t friends. Then who the hell was she? She was obviously lying about her name, but why? Deciding not to press it at the moment, he shrugged. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it.”
She must be in some kind of trouble. So he’d wait and give her a little time before he asked again.
Brakes squealed in the distance as the goons’ two vehicles skidded to a stop beside the cottage. Max darted behind a handy clump of shrubbery, pulling her with him. From the cover of the bushes, he watched five men come around the corner of the house, guns drawn.
“For now, you can be Jane, and I’ll be Max,” he whispered. “But we really should discuss this later. Unless, of course, you want to invite our friends.”
She moved in beside him and looked for herself. “Later’s fine with me.”
“Good. Then, since you know the way, lead on.”
As he followed her, Max felt a rush of admiration, remembering the way she’d faced him down. She wasn’t as beautiful as he’d remembered. Her face, halfway between square and oval, sported a scar above her right eyebrow and a faint little dent in her chin. A light dusting of pale gold freckles buttoned down her nose.
If he took each of her features separately, only her eyes were striking. She was attractive rather than stunning, he decided then asked himself why the hell he was stunned. But he couldn’t deny the combined package mesmerized him. With her red hair contrasted against her ivory skin and charcoal eyes, she looked like...secrets wrapped in sunshine.
So what had caused his earlier resentment toward her? Probably the fear of how much trouble she’d have been in if she’d shot that man. And lust, he realized with chagrin. Desire—sharp, painful, and highly inappropriate. Like being dragged out to sea in an undertow.
Safest reaction: blame the woman.
Frowning, he shook his head at his own insanity. Here he was with no idea what was going on or what to do about it, yet his sexual urges had him wanting to fight with his only ally. And he sensed his normal reaction would’ve been to choose anger over vulnerability. This bothered him. A lot. Was he such a hard ass that he considered it a weakness to desire a woman? Man, that would suck!
It was definitely something he’d have to work on—if he lived long enough.
***
Tess wondered if she’d regret taking Max with her. Probably. But she owed him. Big time. Thank God, he’d stopped her from killing Nick. Murder was sooo not the answer. She must’ve been crazy to even consider it.
Shooting Nick would’ve made her no better than he was. And it would have solved nothing. Tony wouldn’t stop hunting her until she was dead. He detested her. She didn’t know why, but she could feel the hate spitting from his eyes every time he looked at her. And killing Nick would only make things worse.
Still, her gratitude to Max warred with suspicion. Who was he? Was he a danger to her? At least the last few minutes had convinced her he wasn’t Nick’s man—well, probably wasn’t.
She had to admit she felt better being with him than on her own. He might even know how to keep her safe from Nick. After all, he’d known more about her gun than she had. But could she trust him?
‘You can be Jane, and I’ll be Max.’
She pondered his words as she led him back to the grove of palm and Joshua trees. What the hell had he meant? Was he just pissed because she hadn’t told him her real name?
But if his name wasn’t Max, what was it? And why did he seem so confused? He didn’t even know he had a tattoo until she told him. Unless he was faking. But what would be the point of that?
“Jane,” he whispered pointedly as they entered the grove. “The hill you pointed out is in the other direction, so where the hell are we going?”
She flinched at the emphasis he put on the name, making it clear he knew she’d lied. And damn it, she hated lying. To anyone. Shrugging off the guilt, she gestured at the Joshua tree. “Right here, to collect my duffle bag.”
She retrieved it from behind the tree then sat on the ground and yanked her shoes out of her backpack. “I also need to put my shoes on before we get to the rocks.”
“Put your—” He broke off and glanced down at her feet. “Jesus, you’re barefoot.” His gaze traveled back up and locked on hers. “Why are you barefoot?”
She gritted her teeth against the tingles that danced along her spine at the lure of those gorgeous hazel eyes. “Because I hate wearing shoes,” she snapped then stopped herself.
God, give the guy a break. It’s not his fault he affects you this way. Shaking her head, she tugged her sneakers on. “Sorry, didn’t mean to snap at you. I guess I’m just a little out of sorts.” She glanced back toward the cottage. “
Those bastards ruined my whole day.”
He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “I can relate, since they did a number on mine, too. But I’d suggest we put some distance between us and them before we stop to compare notes.”
“Right.”
Shouldering her duffel bag and backpack, she led the way across the desert to a rocky path that wound up the side of a weathered knoll to the high plateau above. She heard Max’s strained breath as he lumbered up the slope behind her. His strength surprised her. As badly injured as he’d been, she’d half expected him to fold.
Halfway up the hill, she stopped in the shelter of a large boulder protruding from the slope. Though he didn’t complain, he had to be famished. She needed to feed him or he’d be too weak to make it to the village. Sitting down on a rock, she dumped the sand out of her sneakers. Max sank to the ground beside her. He had a band of sweat on his forehead and dark purple bags under his eyes.
“You look exhausted,” she said. “We can rest here for a few minutes.”
She pulled a plastic knife, flour tortillas, and a jar of peanut butter out of her backpack. Spreading peanut butter on a tortilla, she rolled it up and handed it to him. “Hope you don’t mind a little sand.”
“I’m not choosy. Right now, I’d eat just about anything.” But he accepted the impromptu sandwich with a grimace. “Got anything to drink? If not, I’ll never get this down.”
She fished two bottles of water out of the pack and offered him one.
He took a long pull then went to work on the tortilla. “What else do you have in that magical bag?” he said with his mouth full. “Some aspirin, maybe? Or something that will get us out of this mess?”
“Aspirin, I have.” Digging out a small plastic bottle, she tossed it to him. “But I’m afraid nothing short of a miracle will get us out of this.” She got up and peered through the shrubbery hiding the path. “Our friend, Bruce, is standing by the Jeep holding his head, and the others are searching the cove. I don’t know if there will be enough of our footprints left in the sand for them to trace us here, but there may be.”
Black Ops Chronicles: Dead Run Page 8
